


when you said hi, I forgot my dang name

by captainhurricane



Series: sky's the limit [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosplay, M/M, Meet-Cute, Nerdiness, Trans Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 12:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14378217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: Diligent office worker Shiro works on his cosplay in what little spare time he has. Who knew that picking the Champion of Kirkwall for this latest costume would give him a shot at love?





	when you said hi, I forgot my dang name

**Author's Note:**

> hamilton-lyrics again for the name? damn right. Satisfied and Helpless are amazing pieces of music and you should all listen to them. 
> 
> also I'm cis but thanks to certain lovely people in the sheith discord I feel encouraged to write this one.

There are many reasons to like growing up and being an adult. You get to make your own decisions, for once. There is no one to tell you what to do. You get to decorate your apartment however you want. No one is there to judge if you eat birthday cake for breakfast. You can drink and go to bars and not even get carded.

There are also many reasons not to like it. Like all of the above. One more reason, at least for Takashi Shirogane, is the fact that he no longer has enough time for cosplay. He has the money for it now, better than when he was a gangly fourteen-year-old and at the mercy of his parents’ limited funds. At exactly thirty years old (and five days), he can be glad to have a steady job studying the stars and still dreaming of exploring them. Yet it saps him of strength and energy and time, leaving his social life in tatters and his apartment messy. 

When Shiro does have the time, he works on cosplay. He plays games on the train on his way to work, plays a couple of hours on his lazy sweatpants-evenings. From his games he picks his characters: the ones who are like him, the ones that make him smile or have something to say.

The latest is Hawke, the big, burly Champion of Kirkwall from one of Shiro’s favourite games, Dragon Age 2. Maybe doing Hawke’s Champion-armour is a little ambitious considering how much Shiro truly doesn’t like sewing - he’s stabbed enough needles into his fingers - and how little he knows about armour-making, but the armour is gorgeous. Shiro even shares a scar with Hawke and the same biceps. For someone with a neat office job, he thinks he’s done a pretty good job keeping those biceps as big as they are. 

The only problem aside from, well, actually doing the armour, is the prosthetic hand. Shiro knows to count himself lucky at how quickly he had gotten it after his car accident and how well it works, even though it’s still so experimental. But it’s still bulky and made of shiny silver metal. 

Shiro doubts any paints would work well with it. 

Maybe it’s a good thing that he lives alone except for Lucky, his Golden retriever. There’s nobody there to judge that spends an impractical amount of time sitting cross-legged by his TV, watching Netflix, in his boxers and shirtless and sewing or stitching. There’s also nobody to see or judge as he tries on a piece of this or that and twirls in front of his full-length mirror. 

So maybe it is a little ridiculous to have such a time-consuming, expensive hobby when he has the money but not the time. At least his parents aren’t pestering him to find a spouse and have kids as Shiro’s little sister has had that covered for the past five years. So Shiro is free to do as he wishes.

Of course he has tried out a relationship or two, both of them lasting for months. Him and the latest guy Stefan had even talked about engagement: but then creative differences had come into the picture along with Stefan’s obsession with his own ex. So that hadn’t done anything.

Speed dating? No. Tinder? God no. Grindr? Dear god. Shiro had tried it out. Had gone out with a couple of guys. Had ended up in bed with a couple. 

Most of those guys had been surprised to find out that the seemingly meek office-worker has replica swords on his walls. 

Shiro isn’t about to be shamed for his damn hobbies or lumped into the category of the weirdest types of people in the cosplay-world. It’s just dress-up. Expensive, frustrating dress-up. It lets Shiro escape the mundane, become someone else. Not that this latest character he’s becoming has a life Shiro is particularly envious of but at least it’s exciting.

And most importantly, Hawke gets to kiss a pretty, broody elf. 

So what if that Fenris is a man made of pixels and Gideon Emery’s perfect, perfect voice? Shiro knows his reality from his fantasy. He also has an active imagination and the game that gives him the opportunity to hear that perfect, perfect voice whisper sappy things at him. 

It’s Fenris he thinks about as he sews and stitches and builds each individual piece of his armour. If only he had someone who could do a pair cosplay with him: the last time he had had a pair cosplay was years ago with Lance and that had been mortifying. Mostly because Lance had abandoned him halfway through when he had spotted his current fiancée cosplaying from the same series.

Now all the fans of Dragon Age Shiro knows are through the internet so there’s no chance of a pair cosplay happening. He’s not too badly bummed out by it, as he’s certain he’ll find someone at the convention. At least his co-worker Åsa is as big of a nerd as him so she’s coming with him as his designated driver and designated photographer - like he’s promised to snap a few shots of her cosplay too. It’s from some obscure anime series that Shiro had never managed to get into. 

The con is so quickly approaching and Shiro still has so much to do. His projects at work, the prosthetic-situation - paint or something over it? - and his regular gym-time, not to mention actually going out for a few with his friends. He’s so desperately busy he ends up phoning his mother.

_ “What’s up, sweetie?”  _

“Stress,” Shiro says. He lays on his back on his couch. “How are you doing, mom? How’s dad?” 

His mother sighs. Shiro can imagine her usual eyeroll. _ “You know. Same old, same old. Refuses to do as I say. But he’s fine. Just stress, sweetie? You don’t usually call just for stress.”  _

Shiro closes his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe I don’t. I’m sorry, mom. I’m pretty damn busy at work. And with making this damn armour.” 

_ “Ohh. Costume stress, is it?”  _

Shiro smiles. “Yeah.” His mother is his biggest support in this hobby: she had helped him get started with sewing and had even bought fabrics and crafts for him as a teen. She still always wants to know what he’s doing next and if he has pictures to show. “I’m gonna send you more pictures. This one is such a big progress. But it’s going to look pretty damn badass once I’m done with it.” 

_ “I’m sure it will. Oh, I think I hear your dad coming in - do you want to talk to him?”  _

“It’s fine. I need to continue working anyway. Tell dad I said hi, okay?” Shiro sits up. He only has to look at Lucky to get him to come over, tail wagging furiously.

_ “Of course, sweetie. Have a nice evening!” _

“You too, mom.” Shiro tosses the phone to the couch and begins rubbing Lucky’s ears. “Let’s continue with this, boy, yes? Let’s hope your daddy finds a nice fellow cosplayer at the con, it’d be great to have group photos.” He picks up the armour piece again. “I hope it’s Fenris. I’d love to see a great Fenris.” 

Lucky has no opinion. But he does like to watch his daddy work. At least he’s not enough of a puppy to chew on the armour pieces and the pieces, after they’ve been painted, smell rank even for him.

He’s going to be so glad after this is over so he can. Well. Start it all over again with a different character. 

He still smiles to himself. That same sliver of excitement in his heart is still there, even after all these years.

It’s still there even couple of weeks later when he’s piling both himself and his stuff into Åsa’s car. Her own suitcase takes close to zero space. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says as he sits on the passenger seat.

“Pffft,” says Åsa. She’s a tall Scandinavian with a taste for cherry-red lipstick. She speaks her English with an accent and has been Shiro’s greatest support in his work so far. “From what you’ve showed me, it looks badass. The pictures are hopefully gonna turn out amazing.”

“With you as the photographer, obviously,” Shiro says. He bumps fists with her before she turns on the ignition. Her Toyota is old and grumpy but it does the trick and it coughs into life. 

“Ahh, free weekend with a great friend and great cosplays and great panels,” Åsa sighs. “Can’t fucking wait!”

“What music do you want?” Shiro fiddles with his phone, setting it up. 

Åsa snorts. “Put in whatever, friend-o.”

So Shiro puts on Disney-songs.

Åsa goads him into singing along after the first five minutes.

They reach their hotel after five hours and two bathroom-breaks. They unload their suitcases, Åsa groans over Shiro’s armour and promises to take some bomb-ass pictures for him over the weekend. They head down for drinks and chat, they spot a few possible con-goers with big suitcases and some with heavy props at the same hotel. 

“I’m so happy I still get pre-con shivers,” Shiro says, twirling his colourful drink. 

“True that,” Åsa says. 

As usual, the next morning is a mess. Shiro bangs his toe against his own armour. Åsa loses her contact twice. She shouts in Swedish at her wig as she tries to untangle it and Shiro tries not to stab himself in the eye as he does his make-up. There’re a few moments of panic when Shiro thinks he’s forgotten a piece but Åsa calms him down and together they wrangle on both cosplays. The light craft foam gauntlet Shiro had made for his prosthetic fits perfectly. Once he looks at himself in the mirror, it’s not Takashi Shirogane, office worker extraordinaire but Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall in all of his spiky glory. Even the black, messy wig is perfect, even when it reminds Shiro of his younger days.

“Selfie!” Shouts Åsa and wraps her arm carefully around his waist, patting him on the back. They snap a few pictures. She posts one to what she calls her public fangirl-twitter and tags the convention in it.

“So that people can see what snacks we are,” she says and winks. She looks sleek in her suit, like a woman in black. She puts on her sunglasses and steps out first. 

Thankfully the convention is on the other side of the road so they only have to walk. They get their con-passes and walk straight into the buzz of the convention center. It doesn’t take long for the first bright-eyed Dragon Age-fan to come bouncing and asking for a photo. Shiro obliges. He obliges the next one. And the next one. Åsa doesn’t seem to mind being the designated bag holder too as she keeps smirking at him. 

“Look at mister wah, wah, it’s not going to be good,” she whispers at him once they get a moment of peace.

“Quiet,” Shiro whispers back. His cheeks are warm. When his friend isn’t looking, he places his palms on them and bites back a smile. 

They go further in and go through the artist’s alley - Shiro buys Fenris and Hawke-prints, smiling serenely at the girl behind the desk who looks starstruck at his costume - and the exhibition hall - Åsa buys the newest volumes of her favourite series and a game - and then stop to take some pictures.

There’s no sign of a Fenris or another Dragon Age-cosplayer anywhere. Shiro can’t help but be a little disappointed.

They head to the dining area and pile on big plates of food for both of them and reserve a spot from the only free table. They chat and joke around and Shiro skims through Åsa’s big bulky camera for the photos they had just taken. He gives it back to her and skewers a sausage from his plate.

He’s eaten half of it, his mouth full, his fork on his way to his face when he sees him.

It’s Fenris, an angelic, beautiful Fenris, looking like he had stepped straight out of the game. Sure, the nose is straighter and the skin is paler and there is a smile there that usually isn’t on Fenris’ face, but it’s still him. The person is beautiful.

Shiro promptly forgets to breathe and chokes on his sausage  _ and _ stabs himself in the cheek with his fork. 

“Jesus Christ, Shiro, what - “ Åsa jumps out of her chair and comes to hit him in the back. Shiro’s eyes are watering, the sausage stuck in his windpipe. He coughs furiously, utterly red-faced.

“Oh fuck,” Åsa keeps saying. She slams him in the back again.

Shiro finally coughs and the offending piece slips out of his mouth. He kind of wants to cry. “Oh god,” he manages, his voice and throat like sandpaper. 

Åsa rubs his back. “Drink some water, buddy. Oh wow. You do know you need to chew before you swallow, right?” 

Shiro accepts the glass of water she shoves at him and gulps it down in one go. He takes a few deep breaths. “Oh, shut up. You - oh. Where did they go?” 

Åsa sits down opposite to him again. “Where did who go?” 

Shiro drinks her glass of water too. Then his own extra one. “There - I - “ He rubs his cheek. 

Åsa’s eyebrows climb up, her gaze slipping from him to over his shoulder. She sits up straighter, her smirk bordering on dangerous. “Hi there!” 

Shiro blinks. He turns. 

There’s the Fenris-cosplayer, a tray of food in their hands, their  eyes very dark under that smooth white hair. 

“Hi,” they say, voice smooth. 

Shiro tries to speak, but instead of a hi, he ends up letting out a whimper. His cheeks burst into flame. “H-hi.” 

“You can sit down with us,” Åsa says sweetly. “It looks like it’s pretty full. Besides, I think I must be going already. This big guy here won’t bite.” She’s so incredibly quick at gathering her tray and her bags that Shiro barely gets a word in. 

Then she’s off and her seat is taken by the love of Shiro’s virtual life. 

“Uh,” says Shiro. “You must have seen me choking on my damn food - sorry about that display. Can I ask for your pronouns? I would rather not assume.” He lays a curious glance at the cosplayer opposite to him. 

They tilt their head. Their smile turns a little devious. “He. That’s nice of you to ask. And yours?” 

Shiro’s nose wrinkles. “It doesn’t hurt. Especially not in these circles, you know? And it’s he for me too.” He pushes away his plate, as it has grown unappetizing to him. His nose itches. He now dares to take in his fellow Dragon Age-fan, look more closely at the intricate detail on Fenris’ ridiculously hot costume and the white tattoos that truly look like they’ve been carved on. 

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro blurts out. 

The guy’s eyebrows climb up. 

Shiro slams his hands on his face. “I mean - “ 

“Oh, how dare you give me a compliment,” the guy says. His eyelashes are very long. “It’s fine.” His mouth twitches. “Big guy.” 

Shiro rubs his throat, still sore from earlier. “I’m Shiro.” He offers his hand - the one not covered in ridiculous amounts of craft foam and aluminum - and the guy grabs it. 

“Keith.” He begins to eat, taking his time and being way neater about it than Shiro. 

“I was getting worried about not seeing anyone else from Dragon Age,” Shiro says, trying not to be creepy and watch his new friend eat. Keith’s hair - or wig, most likely - looks so smooth to the touch. It does things to Shiro’s insides to have a real life version of his in-game boyfriend right in front of him. 

“Good thing I spotted you then,” Keith says. “Love the cosplay, by the way. You look amazing.” 

Shiro combusts internally. He smiles. “Thanks. It took me so long but it’s worth it. Although I’m sweating like a pig.” 

“I hardly notice,” Keith says. “Those guns for the cosplay or do you work out regularly? If you don’t mind me asking.” He’s meeting Shiro’s eyes straight-on, like a challenge. 

Shiro rubs his bicep. “Uh, no. Not for just. Just this. I try to get in a work out whenever I can. Having my dog certainly helps.” His cheeks still feel so warm. Is it just him or is it hot in here? “Not that I, uh, work out with my dog. Obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Keith snorts. He eats.

Shiro watches, like the creep he is. “Uh, I can go, if you want to - want to eat in peace,” he says after the moment has passed. The lights do interesting things to Keith’s eyes, making them look even deeper and darker. Shiro kind of wants to write poetry about his eyes. 

Keith shakes his head. “Nah. I came here with some of my friends but they went to see some panels so I’m kind of wandering around. I’d like a photo with you.” His smile goes softer. It makes his mouth look softer, like Shiro could just press his mouth to it and it- no.  _ Back off, Takashi Shirogane. Back off from such thoughts. _

“That sounds great,” Shiro says. “You look great.” 

Keith snorts. “Already told me.” 

“A-ah. Of course.” Shiro bites his lip and fiddles with the hem of his tunic. He watches it. He watches the table and not the slender hands working on the food right in front of him. To think that there was someone like this in the same area as him, wandering around and Shiro hadn’t spotted him once. To think that he had taught about getting a pair cosplay with someone as Fenris and here Keith is, perfect.

 

Which makes reading all that Hawke/Fenris-fanfiction a little weird.

 

Shiro rubs his cheeks again. 

“You okay there?” Keith’s plate is emptying fast.

Shiro nods. “Ah. I just - I kinda stabbed myself in the face. With my fork.” 

Keith snorts. “Why?” 

_ Because apparently I can’t react to seeing a gorgeous human being like a, well, a human being.  _ “I, uh. I didn’t watch where it was going,” Shiro says. That gets him another crooked grin from Keith. Oddly enough, Shiro’s skin prickles. He gets the feeling that Keith knows it’s not the whole truth. 

“Your gauntlet’s really cool,” Keith says. His own are laying on the table next to him, neatly stacked. 

“So are yours,” Shiro says. Without prompting he offers his gauntlet towards Keith who lays down his utensils and swallows. 

“What’s it made of? It looks heavy.” Keith’s hands look ridiculously slender against the bulk of the gauntlet. 

Shiro can feel himself sweating even more. “The gauntlet itself isn’t heavy. It’s my, uh, arm, that’s heavy.” 

“Oh? You don’t have to tell me. Or show me.” 

Shiro nods. “I have a prosthetic. Down from my bicep.” 

“Damn,” Keith says and lets the gauntlet and the arm in it go. “Still. Looks badass.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking photos with you,” Shiro blurts out. “I mean, I can go find Åsa because she has her camera and all or find your friends or - but your cosplay is so good.” Come get coffee with me? 

Keith takes one last bite and wipes his mouth. “So is yours. Okay then, big guy. Show me the way to a great place to take photos. Your friend dashed off pretty fast though, you sure she wants to take photos?” 

“I’m sure. She’s just being, well, frustrating,” Shiro huffs and takes out his phone. It takes some skill to unlock it one-handed and tap out a message for Åsa one-handed.

She replies with a brb and a winky face. Shiro shakes his head fondly. He stands up first and gathers his bags. He waits as Keith gathers his and his tray and together they take them out and head outside of the center. There’s a lake behind the center and a beautiful tiny wooden area. They head straight there.

Can I take you out for coffee? It sticks in Shiro’s head, a frustrating mantra he can’t get rid of. Can I take you out for coffee? Can I take you out for coffee? Can I take you out for coffee? He has to think properly at what he’s going to say before he says it, because his tongue seems to get tied around Keith. 

They get stopped for a few photos. They take a couple of selfies. Keith posts them to his quiet little cosplay-account at Instagram. His cheeks get an adorable little flush when he shows it to Shiro. Shiro posts his photos to his twitter. They follow each other. Shiro learns that Keith lives way too many cities away from him and that he has played Dragon Age 2 three times, each time falling deeper in love with Fenris. 

Can I take you out for coffee? Shiro’s brain is going haywire. Maybe it’s the heat or the armour pressing against him from all sides. But the sun is hitting Keith’s face just right, bringing such glow to his face that it comes out of Shiro’s mouth just like that.

“Look, I know this is sudden and you live far away and this con only lasts for a weekend, but can I take you out for coffee? Tomorrow morning, maybe?” 

Keith blinks.

Shiro blinks. 

“Coffee?” Keith’s cheeks look pink. He begins to fidget. “I was going to ask you the same thing. You must have read my mind.” 

Shiro lets out a choked little noise. 

Keith rubs his temple, tucks a strand of hair behind his adorable fake elven ears. “I’m staying at the Clinton. It has good breakfast in there.” 

“I’m staying r-right across the street,” Shiro manages to stutter out. “It has good breakfast too. Should we, uh, chat on twitter or something about it? Later?” What’s happening? 

Keith’s teeth dig into his lip. The look he lays on Shiro is utterly devastating. “We should.”

It’s lightning-quick, this burning inside Shiro and he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s known Keith for an hour or two but already feels like there is something there to make the spark into a flame.

**Author's Note:**

> to those who don't know Dragon Age, this is [Hawke and his champion armour](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/82/cb/54/82cb54a2ce455cb74454ad495344dec8.jpg) and this is [Fenris](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/dragonage/images/5/5a/DA2_Grafted_Spirit_Hide_-_Fenris_companion_armor.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120903085408) <3


End file.
